


a bright enough substitute for the sun

by kickedshins



Category: Compelled Dual (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sparring, they don't like kiss or anything but there's Flirting there's Tension you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickedshins/pseuds/kickedshins
Summary: Fen’s solid and stalwart, and everyone knows it. She’s safe with him. She’s safe on her own, too—Phi’s a damn good sorcerer, a damn smart thinker, a damn quick fighter—but if it placates the guards, if it placates her father, so be it. There are much worse people in the world who might be glued to Phi’s side.Besides, he really does make her feel safe. From the depths of her heart out to her fingertips, Fen makes her feel wholly, all-encompassingly protected.orPhi and Fen have a practice sparring match.
Relationships: Fenandrys Tormaer/Phirora Valcyne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	a bright enough substitute for the sun

**Author's Note:**

> hiii and welcome to my immense compdual brainrot. i just think phi and fen should kiss <3 i dont know jack or shit about actual dnd so please do not come at me for if i fuck up a rule or something. ALSO i saw somewhere that in compdual the way they're doing elf aging is 5 years = 1 year, so when i say phi and fen are 85, that means they're 17. enjoy!

Phi rises early today.

She’s not a night owl, really—that’s much more Leo’s role than hers, and he’s gone off to study magical theory, or whatever, she doesn’t really know what non-magical folk do at a heavily magic-based university—but she’s also rarely up this long before the sun rises. She needs a proper trance ( _her beauty trance,_ Kalessa used to call it with the utmost seriousness, and Phi took her words to heart, because back then Kalessa was so _grown up_ to Phi).

Phi likes order, so even though it’s about an hour earlier than she usually does this, she goes through her morning routine (albeit a much abridged one) as she would any other day. She offers a quick prayer to Kimryl, thanking him for—bluntly put—not taking her in the night; she pulls herself out of bed; she drags herself to her vanity and checks to make sure she hasn’t developed any unseemly spots while in bed. Despite her naturally quite good skin, no eighty-five-year-old-elf is entirely immune from acne.

Thankfully she’s clear. A bit of product on her lashes, a brush through her hair, some polishing up of her horns, and she’s ready to go.

She dresses lighter than usual. Phi loves extravagant skirts and loud dresses, and she’s still in the difficult-to-control teenage phase of her life, so she’s toning it down when she steps into a pink number with layers of skirt (easily detachable) and a tight-fitting bodice. She zips up the side and slips on a pair of relatively sensible shoes and she’s ready to go.

Fen’s waiting outside her door, good bodyguard that he is. He looks a touch bleary-eyed, his hair messy and his fingers drumming on the side of his leg the way they often do when he’s deviating from his typical schedule. Fen makes Phi look like Leo when it comes to order.

“G’morning, Phi,” he says.

“Good morning, Fen,” she answers with a smile. “You ready to go?”

“Have to be, don’t I?”

“Have you not had coffee? You’re uncharacteristically cranky,” Phi says.

“I know you wake me up good as anything,” is his sincere and innuendo-devoid and wholesomely-delivered response, but were Phi a less practiced woman, she might have stumbled at his words.

She starts to head down the hallway. “I’ve not got any obligations today, do I?” Phi asks.

“I wouldn’t know,” Fen says from a few steps behind her. “I’m your royal bodyguard, not your royal secretary.”

“Mmm,” Phi says noncommittally, picking up the pace. She glides through the palace on low-heeled slippers, the layers of her dress creating a sizeable radius about her that Fen is just enough outside of to not trip and send them both crashing to the ground. _What decades of navigating those dresses does to a duo,_ Phi supposes.

Fen quickens to match her stride. “Okay,” he says, relenting. “Yes, I know your schedule. No, you don’t have anything planned for the rest of the day. It’s tutors all the way down tomorrow, and some political affair your father is having you sit in on the day following that, but nothing today, and you know that, too, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Phi says, grinning. “I just like to hear you tell me you keep tabs on me.”

Fen huffs exasperatedly, hand landing on his hip. “Of course I do, Phi. It’s literally my job.”

“And you’re very good at it,” is her placating response. 

“Damn right I am,” Fen says proudly. “Also, are we going out for the training I assumed you had me bring this training weapon for, or am I just shadowing you on a vacant traipse around the halls of the castle? There’s barely even anyone out at this hour.”

He’s right. They’ve only passed a few people, a couple of nobles and one or two of their courtesans. It’s a quarter to seven, which is frighteningly early, especially for two people who are—if Phi’s math is correct, which it almost always is—about the human equivalent of seventeen, but Phi has a reason to be up this early, and Fen… well, Fen is a good guard and a better friend, so when Phi says _please be ready to follow me around by quarter to seven in the morning tomorrow (even though we both know I can more than protect myself) with a training weapon on hand_ , Fen is ready to follow her around by quarter to seven in the morning, even though she’s sure he knows she can more than protect herself, blunted wood-bladed battle-axe by his side.

“Of course we’re going out to roll around in the dirt,” she chides. “Come on, now, Fen, we’ve done this a few times before, haven’t we?”

“Usually we do this late at night, though.”

“And today I thought it would be a good wake-up. Don’t you agree?”

“I do,” he says. “It’s actually better this way, yeah. Then I can clean myself off afterwards and be ready for my day and I won’t have to go to bed aching a bit.”

“Oh, so you admit I make you ache?” Phi asks slyly. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Fen’s face twisting as he lets out a series of confused, frustrated noises, and she laughs. He’s a good friend, a dear friend, has been one of her closest friends—perhaps _the_ closest—since she officially moved to court, and she can read him like the back of her hand.

Well, Phi makes a point of being able to read people in general, but it’s easier with him. He wants to be read, sort of. Or– he trusts her, is all. He trusts her, and she trusts him, and trust’s a valuable currency to deal in, so she feels pretty lucky to be rich with his.

“That is _not_ what I meant,” Fen says. “You don’t. I’m always acheless.”

“I’m sure you are,” Phi tells him in a mildly patronizing voice.

He throws his hands into the air in faux-exasperation. “What, first you want me to admit I’ve got your schedule down pat, now you want me to admit you put up a formidable fight? What’s next!”

“Mmm, you confess to everyone that you were the one who set that horse free back when we were about fifty-five.”

“It was miserable,” Fen insists, pout audible. “It was miserable, and it wasn’t meant to be trained like that, and it wasn’t one for captivity, and—”

“I know, Fen,” Phi says placatingly. She’s heard this story about a million times before, and it never gets any less adorable. Fen was a bighearted kid, and continues to be a bighearted teenager, and she’s sure he’ll grow into a bighearted adult. He’s got affection in spades, devotion in droves, and besides, he’s quick and mean with a battle-axe. Phi’s glad to have him by her side.

“Well, good,” he says, a bit petulantly, but it’s before the sun has risen, so Phi thinks he’s allowed to be a touch petulant. Kimryl knows she herself is struggling to keep her eyes open, and it was her own idea to drag her ass out of bed this early in the first place.

They lapse into a comfortable silence as they traverse the rest of the castle. It’s nice to be able to walk with someone and not say a word, and though Phi’s sure this increases their air of professionalism, that’s not exactly what she cares about. 

She cares that Fen gets her. Leo— _Leo_ , bless his heart, or damn it, depending on the day and how much either one of them has had to drink—is… well, loud. Talkative. He tends to run his mouth, and Phi wouldn’t say she’s _smarter_ than that, necessarily, but also she so completely is.

Fen understands that two people don’t have to be chatting every second to have an enjoyable time, which is something that Leo and his circle seemed to have missed the memo on. And, yes, Phi loves talking with Fen, loves it more than most things, and she’s delighted to be able to do it every day, but there is a time and place for the opening of mouths, and that time and place is not always _right this instant_. 

Sometimes Phi wonders if there was a fuck-up of fantastic proportions, and Leo and his friends aren’t secretly younger than herself and Fen. Most of them, from what she’s seen, are certainly a hell of a lot less mature.

She and Fen slip out of the castle with ease. The guards standing outside usually let her do whatever she likes if she pulls the royalty card, but she only has to do that on the occasions that Fen’s not by her side. He typically is, though, and he’s trustworthy, so the guards always let the two of them pass without any trouble. 

Fen’s solid and stalwart, and everyone knows it. She’s safe with him. She’s safe on her own, too—Phi’s a damn good sorcerer, a damn smart thinker, a damn quick fighter—but if it placates the guards, if it placates her father, so be it. There are much worse people in the world who might be glued to Phi’s side. Besides, he really does make her feel safe. From the depths of her heart out to her fingertips, Fen makes her feel wholly, all-encompassingly protected. 

She beats back a deep purple flush as she ponders the simple comfort of Fen Tormaer while trekking across the grounds. There’s quite a bit of land surrounding the structure in which Phi’s lived for a fair amount of her life. She’s rolled around in this grass many times as a younger elf, raced friends and other court kids up and down the hills, played hide-and-go seek in the trees. She’s spent hours studying in a clearing, firing spell after spell at her surroundings until her magic was depleted and she swayed and fell, exhausted, to the ground. She’s pushed herself to be the best she can be in all aspects of life—socially, academically, as a daughter and as royalty.

Now, Fen and Phi make their way to the usual spot, a large swath of open grass encircled by trees. They’ve spent many an hour here doing all sorts of things, from just taking a break from court and how painfully overwhelming it can be at times to, once, kissing, but Phi doesn’t really like to think about that, because it was like five years ago and a fluke and she’s almost positive she was mildly intoxicated at the time, and also every time she remembers it, her heart starts to twist in a way that is _entirely_ unbecoming for a woman who will most certainly have to marry herself off for political purposes, so it’s best to push it down with the rest of the things she simply doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with right this second.

She’s got a pretty deep reservoir of those things. She’ll get to them at some point, she’s sure. For now it’s easier to repress, though.

“Rules?” Fen asks, because he always defers to her.

“Same as usual,” she instructs. She pulls her hair up into a high ponytail, tugging it tight, and she must have accidentally snagged a leaf with her horn, or something, because Fen’s looking pretty intently at the area that her hands are occupying as she fixes up her hair. “We go three rounds a set, and we’ll do as many sets as time and our bodies permit. First to pin, fully disarm, or otherwise incapacitate their opponent wins a round. Fighting dirty is discouraged, but it isn’t disallowed. And, most importantly, this isn’t a training session.”

They’ve been doing this for a while now. Quite a few years. Phi’s more than got her proper training, but proper training is, frankly, incredibly boring at times. Phi is positive that in a real fight, in a fight for her life, her opponent would not pause to critique her stance or technique or what have you. Phi is positive that in a real fight, a fight for her life, her opponent would just, like, try to fucking kill her as best they could.

And Fen, too, of course, is a sword sharpened to perfection, sliced against his own whetstone of training. He knows etiquette and disarming blows and all the other important things a man should know, but Fen knows that not everyone is as fond as structure as he is, and that a real skirmish is nothing like training within the castle boundaries.

Also, sometimes they both really need to let off some steam and not worry about having to fight as clean as humanly possible or meeting specific criteria of spells used or sword movements waved about. Phi doesn’t really know. She doesn’t fight with a weapon the way he does, but she’s sure there’s probably rules somewhere about what one should or shouldn’t do with it, and she knows that, put-together as he is, Fen’s still an eighty-five-year-old boy. Sometimes he’s just got to break those rules.

So thus began their sparring bouts.

“You ready?” Fen asks, reaching one arm over his head to stretch. “I am when you are.”

“Give me a second,” she tells him. 

He’s fine to wait, continuing his stretching. He’s not wearing armor—they tumble about without protection, which is something Phi is positive would make her father drop dead to the ground upon hearing it—and though he has his shield, because he’s almost always got his shield strapped to him, that’s the only coverage he’s really got.

Phi’s situation is worse, because she doesn’t have any physical protection. And that might make her nervous, but a) she’s confident in herself b) she trusts Fen not to actually harm her c) they’re trying to simulate a real-world scenario. Phi’s pretty sure an assailant wouldn’t wait for Fen to throw on his breastplate, or something.

Phi unclips her layers of skirt and folds them neatly before hanging them over one of the branches of a nearby tree.

“Why’d you wear that if you were just going to take it off?” Fen asks, no malice in his voice, just real curiosity. Also it cracks once or twice, but it’s early in the morning, so Phi pays it no mind.

She turns around to face him. She’s now clad in her tight, chest-supporting, high-necked pink bodice—detailed with silver embroidery, of course—that transitions into something like the end part of a gossamer shift, opaque pink by her waist (and covering a pair of athletic shorts, because Phi does not put on a dress without putting on shorts underneath it) but fading into a translucent silver by the time the hem hits her mid-calf. There’s a slit up the side of it for mobility purposes. It’s something that she genuinely might wear out and about, and the skirt layers that make it pomp-filled enough for court are very easy to remove. She could see herself fighting a real fight in this.

Fen’s mid-lean, bent halfway over, his shirt riding up so that Phi can see a stretch of skin and muscle from his navel around his flank to his back. It’s not a bad stretch of skin to behold. Fen’s very much in shape.

“You’re cheating,” she frowns.

“Hmm?” he asks, twisting his head to look at her, gray eyes sharp and pretty in the earliest wisps of light cast by the soon-to-begin-rising sun.

“You’re dressed too casual,” she says. “I didn’t notice it back inside the castle.” She gestures to his outfit, a plain brown shirt and sharp black pants and brown leather boots that reach his mid-calf. He’s thrown his outer layer—a long, simple jacket—and the red fabric that he uses to keep it cinched around his waist over a tree’s branch, a bit more haphazard with his clothing than she is.

“What, this is too casual? There are some very fancy threads making up this shirt, I’ll have you know,” Fen says, bending deeper into his stretch. His shirt’s loose enough around his arms that Phi can’t see his muscles very well, but she can imagine them with ease.

“Put back on the coat and sash and then we’ll talk. There’s no time for you to undo that whole rigamarole before a fight, especially if you’ve got your shield slung over your back and your axe holstered to you.”

Fen gives her a mildly incredulous look that lands somewhere between _oh, so you can take off your skirts but I can’t take off my coat?_ and _dammit, Phirora, if you wanted to win so bad, you could have asked me kindly to throw this for you._

“Yeah, yeah,” Phi says, not really sure what she’s responding to. 

It seems to make enough sense to Fen, though, because he slips his arms through the sleeves of the coat. His shield goes back over his shoulder and his axe gets affixed to the red sash around his waist.

“Much better,” Phi tells him appraisingly.

Fen cracks his knuckles, tilts his head to the left and to the right. “Let’s do this, then.”

The thing about Fen is that he’s disciplined. Even in their sparring matches, he tends to stick to what are universally understood to be the rules of combat. Phi’s sure he would deviate from protocol if he had to protect her, but since it’s a one-on-one fight, she can eliminate wildcard selfless heroics from the list of moves Fen might pull.

Also, he’s a tactician at heart. He likes having plans, and he’s pretty fantastic at making them. He knows her schedule; he also knows what spells she tends to cast, what openings she tends to try to take advantage of.

So that’s something to be mindful of, she knows. He’s probably going into this with somewhat of a plan, because even though it’s not a fight he’s had time to map out, or anything, he knows her, and he’s a quick thinker. 

She’s not going to overpower him with force alone; he’s a hell of a lot stronger than she is physically, and even though she’s got magic and he doesn’t, he’s resilient as anything. So she’s got to start clawing, start biting a few ankles, if she wants to win.

They pace around each other cautiously, neither one of them wanting to make the first move. Then, Phi says, “In the real world, an assailant wouldn’t stalk me like they’re a malnourished fox and I’m a shockingly shifty rabbit,” and Fen pounces.

“Grand Duchess!” he yells dramatically as he surges forward, “I’m, uh– shit, why am I attacking you. I’m here to, um, make you pay for what you did to my brother!”

“Fen, you don’t have a– _whoa_ ,” Phi says, dropping and rolling out of the way of an unarmed strike. “Dammit, I’m going to ruin this dress.”

Fen makes quick work of his loosely-tied sash, freeing his coat and his axe. The fabric gets tossed over his shoulder— _mistake, mistake, you made a careless mistake_ Phi’s mind hums—and it lands on the ground, forgotten, as he takes his axe in hand and starts to swing it down.

Phi knows, logically, that it’s wood and can’t actually cleave through her, but she’s still feeling a rush of adrenaline unmatched by anything she gets in, like, fencing lessons, or whatever. She rolls again, hooking her ankle around Fen’s as she does so, and trying to pull him down with her.

She doesn’t succeed, which is fine, he’s big and strong, but she does get him to stumble and be off-balance for long enough that she can cast Thaumaturgy and cause the ground beneath him to shake.

While he’s unsteady, she grabs that discarded sash and loops it around his eyes, tying it in what is not her best knot, but is at least a quick and tight knot. Then, before he can right himself properly, she puts the full force of her weight—which isn’t as much as his, but she’s tall and he’s struggling to stand up enough as is—against his back, taking him to the ground.

He thrashes for a bit, trying to free his arm to either hit her, swing at her with his axe, or at the very least unblind himself, but soon enough he realizes that he’s very much at a disadvantage.

Phi’s got one knee pinning an arm behind his back (atop his shield, which is still strapped to him) and the other holding his axe-wielding hand firmly to the ground. She holds a shoulder down with one hand and the fingers of the other toy with the ends of his sash, still tied around his eyes. She leans in close and whispers in his ear, “Do you yield, Fenandrys?”

“Ugh,” he says, and then, “yes, Phi, I yield. You’ve more than beat me.”

“Bet you’ll be sore later,” she says, rolling off of him with a wild shout of laughter when he groans in frustration.

“So that round goes to you, naturally,” Fen says. He’s still lying face-down in the dirt.

Phi nudges a foot under his stomach and heaves until he gets the message and rolls onto his back. She extends an arm and he takes it, hauling himself up with ease and without tugging on her shoulder. He’s got fantastic core strength.

Fen’s fingers are warm, his palms calloused, abrasive against the smooth, exposed skin of Phi’s forearms. Her eyes dart to where they’re touching, and just as soon as they do, Fen removes his hand like he’s touched a hot stove.

“Sorry,” he says.

“What for?”

“Just… gripping too hard?”

“You don’t– Fen, your grip’s plenty gentle,” she assures him, and for too long a second, she worries they’re not really talking about fighting practice. “You ready to go another round?”

He shakes himself off, loosens his jaw, flashes her a grin.

This time, Phi acts first, and this time, Fen’s ready for her. She steps forward, quick as anything, sparking flying between her well-kept, black-polished nails, and attempts to administer a jab full of lightning to his side.

He spins out of the way in time, their movements more of a cat-and-mouse-chase of a dance than a fight until he pulls that shield in front of him and stands his ground a handful of yards away from her.

“Hey,” Fen says.

“Hi,” she says, panting a bit. “You know, an assailant probably wouldn’t make small talk in the middle of a fight.”

“Right, right,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. He schools his features into a mask of rage, pulling his brows together and scowling. “I’m gonna get you. I’m gonna get you so good.”

“Brilliant,” Phi applauds him.

His expression softens a bit, and as it does, his guard drops just a few inches. In that momentary lapse of judgment—a lapse Phi knows, with all her heart, would never happen in the real world, is only happening now because no matter what fictional fight scenario the two of them throw themselves into, Fen can’t shake the unequivocal trust he has for her—Phi scoops her hand through the air above her head, gathering up energy in her fist, and hurls, the way she might a fishing wire or a rope, a Witch Bolt at Fen’s head.

He throws his shield up just barely in time, clocking himself in the nose with his own fist in the process.

“Ouch,” she hears from behind his family’s crest.

“I’d apologize, but it wouldn’t be sincere, and also I feel as if that’s your own fault,” Phi tells him. She’s a bit woozy from the release of energy and, since Fen can’t see her display of weakness while he’s holed up behind his shield, she puts her hands on her knees to stabilize herself for a second.

“Yeah, it is,” Fen says, voice getting louder as he steps towards her. And then the step turns into a full-on charge, and there’s a very tall, very built elf hurling full speed at Phirora Valcyne, and for half a second, she almost considers letting him knock her to the ground just for the exhilaration of her back hitting dirt, of being trapped beneath him.

She shakes those idiotic notions from her head, though, and pushes her hand forward, letting out a harsh Gust of wind that nearly sends Fen clear off his feet when it strikes his shield.

It doesn’t, though. He holds his ground and continues to push forward, the top half of his head visible over the edge of his shield. The sun’s rising behind Phi and the gold of its rays hits the gray of his eyes and sets them on cold, cold fire.

“C’mon,” Fen taunts, forcing a grin. And he’s not one for taunts, really, but they get under Phi’s skin more than she’d care to admit, so that’s probably why he’s breaking them out. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Phi grinds her feet into the ground, the soil breaking easily under her kitten-heeled slippers. “Oh, _Fenandrys_. Don’t tell me you aren’t sweating.”

Fen, bless him, staunchly refuses to respond to her objectively true comment, instead delegating his energy to pushing forward with his shield and tossing his head— _like a dog,_ Phi thinks distantly, _a precious puppy_ —to flick the aforementioned sweat from his brow. 

Phi responds with another burst of wind, and he grunts, straining against the force of her magic, and her lips curl into a wicked smile. And then just as she’s sure he’s going to hit the ground like a flipped turtle, he drops straight down to his knees.

Instantly, Phi’s thrown off balance. Since Fen’s suddenly about two feet below where she was aiming, her wind isn’t pushing against his shield anymore—it’s pushing against nothing at all, actually—and she’d been putting so much effort into a forward push that without an equal and opposite force fighting her, Phi tumbles forward.

As she falls, as if in slow motion, she can see Fen get to his feet and run the fifteen-or-so feet it takes to get from where he was to where she’s face-first in the dirt. She rolls over onto her back, ready to spring up to her feet, but he’s ready to meet her. 

Fen swings a leg over her, one foot planted on either side of her hips, and catches her in the shoulder with his axe. He pushes her down with it until she’s pressed to the grass and he’s kneeling with his legs bracketing her waist, the hand not occupied with the axe pressed to the ground next to Phi’s head, holding the rest of his weight up.

“Do _you_ yield?” Fen asks, quirking his head to the side. His shoulders, broad and steady, block the sun, but he’s a bright enough substitute.

Phi swallows hard. “Yes, I do.”

“Great,” Fen says. He pulls himself off of her with the utmost expedience and professionalism, which feels a bit inaccurate to how a fight in real life might go, but whatever. 

Phi’s quick to follow. “Final round?” she says. “I think we should stop after this set. Just one today.”

He nods. And then before Phi can even properly get her bearings, before she can even contend with the mess of hair that’s spilling out of her ponytail holder, he tackles her to the ground.

Phi was not expecting this. Fen really _isn’t_ the type to play dirty like that, and though they’d technically both confirmed the initiation of the final round, she would have thought he’d have the chivalry to let her reset before pouncing. She supposes even the most respectful of men are monsters before they’ve had their breakfast.

“What the fuck!” Phi shrieks in an upsettingly undignified way. “Fenandrys!”

“Do,” Fen gets out between peals of laughter, “you yield to me, Phirora Valcyne?”

Phi pounds her fists against his chest fruitlessly. In a battle of sheer mass, Fen’s the easy victor. She’s not getting out of his grasp. “Yes, you bastard, yes, I yield.”

“I win,” he says.

“You win,” she admits. And then, because she’s secretly a sentimental sap, and because she shouldn’t be entrusted with the handling of feelings before she’s had coffee, she pulls him into a quick, tight hug.

“Oh!” Fen says softly, and Phi can feel their hearts beating against each other.

“Thanks for training with me,” she says. She releases Fen, pulls herself out from under him, and brushes dirt off of her dress. Holding out a hand to him, ready for the taking, she says, “Now we’d better head back home.”

**Author's Note:**

> a few things. 1) sorry if that was like PAINFULLY ooc in my defense we've had 2 episodes of phi and 1 of fen. but also my writing is RUSTY right now so like even with more content i'm sure it woulda been ooc 2) this was rly an excuse to practice writing combat because i avoid writing action scenes like the plague so sorry for it not being as cutesy as it could have been 3) i dont know if its spelled ax or axe and at this point i am FAR too afraid to ask
> 
> also modern au phi jewish agenda. its not in this fic im just spreading it right now
> 
> okay thanks for reading, kudos/comments always appreciated, find me on twitter @ kickdshins if you wanna see me yelling more about compdual and other things !


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